Just before they left the room, Duan Hongning and Liu Qingxi had been seized by a sudden whim. They pinned Lin Sui’an down on the daybed, stripped off her outer robe, changed her into a new-style foreign outfit, drew her brows, dusted her with honey powder, and touched color to her lips. Faced with two delicate and seemingly fragile young women, Lin Sui’an didn’t dare use her strength to resist, so she simply closed her eyes, spread herself out flat on her back, and let them have their fun.

Duan Hongning was, after all, a master of cosmetics. With just a few strokes, Lin Sui’an’s natural beauty leapt several levels higher. When Lin Sui’an looked at herself in the mirror, she had to admit she was quite pleased — bright-eyed and full of spirit.

And then, in the main hall, she came face to face with Hua Yitang.

Hua Yitang was completely stupefied. He stared at Lin Sui’an in a daze — staring while standing, staring while walking, staring while sitting, staring while sipping his tea — his eyes practically glued to Lin Sui’an’s face. Even Lin Sui’an, whose nerves were thick as rope, could not endure such a burning, fervent gaze. She shot him a look in return. “Stop staring.”

Hua Yitang let out a drawn-out “Ah—” and kept right on staring.

The women around them laughed until they nearly fell over.

Lin Sui’an’s face burned. She kicked Hua Yitang. “Still staring! Turn around!”

It was not a gentle kick. Hua Yitang sucked in a sharp breath, and his gaze finally shifted — for all of one blink, before drifting right back. He puffed out his cheeks. “But you look so beautiful — let me look a little longer, won’t you? Such a fuss.”

Lin Sui’an didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So the man had actually managed to feel aggrieved.

“Lin Niangzi is a martial artist — she suits the clean, crisp lines of foreign dress. Her makeup needn’t be heavy; light and natural is perfect.” Liu Qingxi settled beside Lin Sui’an with her book case, drew out two cosmetic boxes, and said, “The honey powder we used today is a new product from my Liu family cosmetics shop — ‘Light Clouds and Clear Skies.’ Paired with the blush called ‘Sky Meets Water,’ it would look even better.”

Hua Yitang swept his fan. “I’ll take this whole case of cosmetics.”

Lin Sui’an: “Hey—”

Liu Qingxi was overjoyed. “Our shop carries many other lines as well — especially the lip colors. Every shade is made from the freshest flower petals, blended with the most popular Persian fragrances—”

“Send it all to the Hua family’s Ninety-Nine House. Going forward, send new products along as they come in.”

“Hua Yitang!” Lin Sui’an couldn’t take it any more. “What are you buying all this for? I don’t even know how to put on makeup.”

“Never mind.” Hua Yitang preened, fanning himself with pleasure. “I’ll go learn.”

The women laughed all the harder. Liu Qingxi looked utterly astounded. “And they really do say Hua Fourth spends gold like water…”

Amid the laughter, only Duan Hongning did not laugh. She watched Lin Sui’an and Hua Yitang for a long, quiet moment, then let out a soft sigh.

The way Hua Yitang looked at Lin Sui’an was ardent and sincere — his feelings for her were as plain as lanterns blazing at a festival, transparent for all to see. Lin Sui’an seemed unaware, but even she had perhaps not noticed: when she looked at Hua Yitang, her smile radiated its own light.

And yet… was this man truly worthy of it?

Duan Hongning thought of the past. Of a question she had once asked someone.

“Is this man worthy of your whole heart?”

That person had smiled and answered: “He is.”

But the truth had been precisely the opposite!

Duan Hongning squeezed her eyes shut.

He was not worthy at all!

“Duan Niangzi, something’s wrong — something’s very wrong!” The doorman servant came running in with wild gestures, stumbled, and planted his face on the floor. Not bothering to wipe the dirt from his face, he raised his head and shrieked, “Out — out out out there’s a whole group of people outside — they’ve surrounded us!”

Chaos erupted among the crowd. Duan Hongning slowly opened her eyes. “Who dares cause trouble at my Duan’s Nine House? Don’t they know that Adjutant Hua is here as a guest?”

“They — they they they say they’ve come for Adjutant Hua!” the servant wailed. “The one leading them is Wu Chun, the Alliance Chief of Five Mound Alliance — he’s shouting something about coming to settle a bet!”

Lin Sui’an thought: Ah — so that’s where they’ve been lying in wait.

Hua Yitang broke into a radiant smile, snapped his fan shut, and stood. “Perfect timing.”

Ling Zhiyan, for the first time in his life, understood the saying: “It is easy to go from frugality to luxury, but hard to go the other way.” Having grown accustomed to sitting in Hua’s great armchairs, he could not endure even a quarter-hour of formal kneeling — his calves had cramped up and his toes were twitching with pain.

After waiting the whole morning — first being gawked at like a spectacle by passersby, then mocked by a tea attendant, then chased and berated by a group of women — he had finally managed, relying on Hua Yimeng’s connections, to secure a meeting with the proprietress of Autumn Moon Tea House: Xue Qiu.

Xue Niangzi appeared to be in her early twenties. She wore a pale green long skirt, her hair pinned up high with only a single understated silver hairpin. She was tall and slender, her skin pale — the kind of pallor that comes from years without sunlight. Her expression was mild, her features unremarkable at first glance. She was currently kneeling across from them in the formal style, brewing tea for her guests, using premium hundred-flower tea from Qingzhou.

The tea set was Hua family white porcelain, the bases of the cups fired with a pale green snowflake pattern. When tea was poured in, the snowflakes seemed to float on the surface of the water — delicate and refined.

“This tea set was a gift from Third Young Lady last time she visited. I’ve been reluctant to use it, but today is the right occasion for distinguished guests.” Xue Niangzi passed a cup to each of her guests. “My apologies for the wait, Investigating Censor Ling — I hope you don’t hold it against me.”

Ling Zhiyan took a sip of tea. “Not at all.”

Thanks to the unexpected appearance of Hua Yimeng, Ling Zhiyan’s identity as the Court of Judicial Review’s Investigating Censor could no longer be concealed. He’d had no choice but to reveal himself and conduct a formal inquiry. Fortunately, with Hua Yimeng and Qu Hui present, the atmosphere would not be too severe.

Xue Qiu: “What would Investigating Censor Ling like to ask?”

Ling Zhiyan set down his tea cup, raised his eyes, and fixed them steadily on Xue Qiu. “Does Xue Niangzi happen to know Lian Xiaoshuang?”

It was Ling Zhiyan’s habit during an inquiry to watch for every small detail, especially the eyes and micro-expressions of witnesses — any of them might hold the key to breaking the case.

He had not expected that his gaze would cause such an immediate and dramatic change in Xue Qiu’s expression. She turned her face away swiftly. Hua Yimeng drove an elbow hard into Ling Zhiyan’s ribs.

Ling Zhiyan was baffled. “Third Young Lady of the Hua Family, what is it?”

Hua Yimeng said, with exasperation, “That was terribly rude!”

Ling Zhiyan: “What?”

Hua Yimeng coughed pointedly and signaled with her eyes. Ling Zhiyan followed her gaze, bewildered. Xue Qiu had raised her hand to cover the left side of her face, felt the skin there, then relaxed and lowered her hand.

It was only then that Ling Zhiyan noticed: Xue Qiu’s face was pale in an unusual way — not just pale, but remarkably smooth and fine, with a faint silken sheen, and the expression on the left half of her face was slightly stiff. It struck him all at once — there was something on Xue Qiu’s face, almost like powder or cream.

He knew very little about cosmetics, and hurriedly looked to Hua Yimeng for guidance.

Hua Yimeng lowered her voice. “Xue Niangzi’s face was injured in the past. She uses cosmetics to conceal it.”

Cold sweat broke out on Ling Zhiyan’s brow. He clasped his hands in apology. “The fault was mine entirely.”

Xue Qiu shook her head and gave Hua Yimeng a grateful smile. “If Investigating Censor Ling is asking about the Lian Niangzi who excelled at embroidering begonias — yes, I did know her.”

Ling Zhiyan no longer dared to look directly at Xue Qiu’s face, and his eyes had nowhere to settle, so he fixed them on the tea cup on the table instead. “How did you come to know her?”

“I admired her embroidery work and placed several orders. Over the course of those visits, we naturally became acquainted.”

“Does Xue Niangzi also know Duan Hongning of Red Fragrance Quarter and Minina of Yongzhao Lane?”

“I have met them a few times at the embroidery shop — we are not close.”

“Not close?” Ling Zhiyan’s professional instincts made him jerk his head up to look at Xue Qiu’s face — then he caught himself and snapped his gaze back down again. “I reviewed the account books of all three embroidery shops. You, Duan Hongning, and Minina each went to the shop on the fifteenth of every month for a full year to collect from Lian Xiaoshuang. Surely that was arranged?”

“Ah, so that is what Investigating Censor Ling is asking.” Xue Qiu paused. “We did arrange it. Lian Niangzi disliked going out, so the three of us agreed to accommodate her and pick up our orders on the same day — to save Lian Niangzi extra trips.”

Xue Qiu’s answer was perfectly reasonable and airtight, yet Ling Zhiyan had a nagging sense that something was slightly off. Without being able to observe her facial expressions and eyes, he felt thoroughly unsettled. He picked up his tea cup, set it down, then picked it up again and took a sip. “Were you aware that Lian Xiaoshuang had once terminated a pregnancy?”

The hand Xue Qiu had been using to rinse the tea set gave a sudden tremor. Water spilled over, scalding her fingertips red. She withdrew her hand quickly, took out a damp cloth, and wiped it. “I had not heard Lian Niangzi mention this.”

Ling Zhiyan made his judgment immediately: She is lying.

“Do you know who Lian Xiaoshuang’s sweetheart was?”

Xue Qiu wrapped the damp cloth tightly around her fingers, her knuckles going white. “I never met him. I don’t know who he is.”

Ling Zhiyan: That one is probably the truth.

“Besides the three of you, who else regularly purchased embroidery from Lian Xiaoshuang?”

Xue Qiu loosened the cloth and resumed calmly rinsing the tea set. “That question would be better put to the embroidery shop’s proprietor — they would know better than I.”

Ling Zhiyan suppressed a quiet sigh. It seems this is as far as we’ll get today.

Hua Yimeng waved her fingers in front of Ling Zhiyan’s eyes. “Done with your questions?”

Ling Zhiyan nodded, drained the remaining tea in one swallow, rose, and gave a bow of farewell. “Then I will not intrude further. Farewell.”

As he left the tea house, Ling Zhiyan heard Hua Yimeng enthusiastically telling Xue Qiu about how Qu Hui was clever and well-mannered, how she had endured hardship, how capable she was, how well she could earn a living — and it suddenly came back to him. Hua Yimeng had mentioned before that she intended to find Qu Hui work as a tea master. At the time he had taken it as a word of comfort, but it had been genuine after all.

The Hua Family of Yangdu — true to their word, as ever.

The street was busy with people and vendors calling out their wares, the air alive with the warm, lively smell of daily life. Ling Zhiyan drew a long breath and walked with the flow of the crowd toward the direction of the government quarter, turning over the testimonies of Duan Hongning and Xue Qiu again and again in his mind, still finding no discrepancies, and yet the unease in his chest only grew, as though he had overlooked something critical…

Seven or eight men in fine brocade robes swaggered past, walking with the entitled, sprawling gait of those accustomed to clearing a path — pedestrians gave them a wide berth, and people pointed at their retreating backs in hushed whispers.

Ling Zhiyan stopped dead in his tracks. In the brief moment they had passed, those faces seemed familiar from somewhere.

“Those are Ma Family’s worthless young master and his gang of second-generation layabouts again — why have they come back?”

“Bullying women — shameless!”

Ling Zhiyan remembered. The one in front was Ma Biao, the only son of the Ma Family head in the East City — twenty-three years old, good for nothing, stirring up trouble every day. The others looked like scions of the Wang and Su families; he had seen them all at the Scattered Flower Pavilion’s night banquet.

Could it be—?!

Ling Zhiyan whipped around and watched as Ma Biao and his company swaggered straight into Autumn Moon Tea House.

“Hey — hey, don’t you two get a creepy feeling about this place?” Jin Ruo asked, rubbing his arms.

Wu Da swallowed hard. “Should — should should should should should we go back and report to Adjutant Hua first and ask Lin Niangzi to come and take command?!”

Fang Ke rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

Before the three of them stood a funeral parlor — black walls, black tiles, a black door, and a black sign board. The characters on the sign were a ghastly white, as was Fang Ke’s complexion. Two ghastly white broken paper lanterns hung motionless, exuding a cold, bone-deep chill.

In front of the entrance grew two weeping willows with gnarled, cratered bark. Their tangled branches hung still in the sunlight like two disheveled human heads.

The main gate of the funeral parlor was ajar. The ground was covered in withered willow leaves and paper spirit money. Then a gust of wind came — the paper money swirled upward and scattered. A flock of crows burst from the willow trees with a clatter, cawing as they poured into the funeral parlor and went utterly silent.

Jin Ruo grabbed frantically at Fang Ke’s sleeve. “Master Fang! Doctor Fang! Ancestor Fang! I just looked at the almanac — today is inauspicious for travel. Why don’t we go back and come again another day—”

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow — how many tomorrows are there?” Fang Ke tightened the straps of his large wooden case, took a long stride toward the gate, and said, “We’re already here. We might as well go in and have a look.”

Jin Ruo was on the verge of tears. He couldn’t bear to let Fang Ke go in alone, so he screwed up his face, swallowed his sobs, and shuffled after him, huddling close on Fang Ke’s heels and scuttling forward in small, rapid steps. As he shuffled along, a shadow flashed past from behind — a hand grabbed his waistband. Jin Ruo let out a shriek and spun around — it was Wu Da, who had followed after all, in the exact same hunched posture. The two of them were probably the same color — white as fresh-laid plaster.

Jin Ruo: “Wu Constable, you nearly frightened me to death!”

Wu Da: “Jin Young Alliance Master, don’t scream like that — you’re the one frightening people!”

Fang Ke: “Both of you shut up — you’re giving me a headache!”

The funeral parlor was larger than they had expected — it turned out to be a three-courtyard compound.

The first courtyard held only a single prayer hall, inside which sat a crumbling statue of the Lord of Heaven, its beard broken off, the incense burner cracked. A large black rat darted across the top of the deity’s head, sending Jin Ruo and Wu Da into another round of yelping and hollering. Fang Ke, having reached his limit, turned and shot them a ferocious glare.

When the red-robed coroner turned fierce, he was more terrifying than any ghost. Jin Ruo and Wu Da clamped their hands over their mouths instantly — not even a breath dared escape.

The three of them skewered themselves into the second courtyard like meat on a spit. Six side rooms had been built along the left and right walls, their bases blanketed in dark green moss. The window paper had been gnawed away by rats, leaving only bare lattice frames wound through with desiccated climbing vines. Fang Ke shoved one room open at random — it was empty inside, save for a tattered straw mat and a few chipped ceramic bowls. Someone had lived there once.

Jin Ruo ran a trembling finger along the window ledge and gathered a pinch of dust, rubbing it between his fingertips. “No one’s been here for at least half a year.”

Wu Da: “Duck Traders’ Gate’s testimony stated that they stopped the funeral parlor’s work six months ago.”

“Why six months ago?”

“Duck Traders’ Gate didn’t know either.”

Fang Ke let out a cluck of the tongue. “A funeral parlor this large, and not a single body — what a waste.”

With that, he continued toward the third courtyard, his lean frame seeming to contain immense force as he dragged the two weeping, wailing dead weights behind him without apparent effort.

The third courtyard held a single wide hall with six large wooden doors and no proper windows — only a row of ventilation gaps along the eaves. Its structure was almost identical to a mortuary. A gleam came into Fang Ke’s eyes. Jin Ruo and Wu Da felt every hair on their heads stand up.

There were, indeed, things inside the hall — several coffins scattered about haphazardly. The materials and craftsmanship looked to be of reasonably good quality. All the coffins were unsealed, their lids open. Fang Ke forged ahead and peered into each one in turn, looking deeply disappointed.

“All empty.”

Jin Ruo and Wu Da, shrunken by the doorway, exhaled in collective relief.

Fang Ke took a circuit of the room and made his way to the innermost coffin. His expression brightened. “This coffin has been sealed.” He rapped on it with his knuckles. “There’s something inside. You two — come here and open it.”

Jin Ruo and Wu Da: “What?!”

Fang Ke’s brow darkened. “Quickly!”

The two propped each other up, bent over and crept forward on tiptoe, hands resting on the coffin boards — and at that exact moment, a thud came from inside.

Jin Ruo and Wu Da leapt three feet into the air and flung themselves behind Fang Ke. Fang Ke stared fixedly at the coffin, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

The coffin board let out a tooth-aching creak — creak, creak, creak — inching open millimeter by millimeter. A hand, skeletal as bare bone, shot suddenly from within, and with a clap landed on the edge of the coffin board.

Jin Ruo and Wu Da dropped straight to the floor. “A CORPSE IS RISING! AAAARGH!”

Side story:

Mu Xia, in the middle of preparing dinner, raised her head: “Was that a sound just now?”

Iita, diligently rubbing spices on the roasting meat, pricked her ears: “It sounded like Jin bro is screaming.”

The two looked at each other: “Jin Ruo must be hungry.”